


Whatever Works

by Twelve (Dodici)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Writober 2020, and blood, found family trope of doom, just people chilling, mention of murder, no context we die like idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26781898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dodici/pseuds/Twelve
Summary: Who would have ever bet that, one day, chicken curry would have been the only murdered thing involved in Killua’s family dinners.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88





	Whatever Works

**Author's Note:**

> If you need context or sense you're in the wrong place XD  
> English isn’t my first language, but that didn’t stop me from writing creepy nursery rhymes.

He cuts another chunk from the disgusting, slimy chicken breast and he lets it fall inside the bowl. Alluka is trying her hands at cooking, there’s an army of onions and carrots and spices scattered on the table—Kurapika dared to ask if she planned to follow a recipe but her only answer was “it’s going to be fine, trust me”.

Killua does trust his sister, only not with big, scary knives or salmonellosis.

He might be immune to that too—is that even possible?—but he can’t be sure for sure. He looks at the blade under the spray, the chatters from the other room are muffled by the sound of the water.

It’s been years since his last dose of poison; is he going to lose his immunity one of these days? His claws are sharp as always and he doesn’t feel weak—Gon’s laughter sparks inside his brain just like Godspeed, voice too excited for Killua to understand what the heck he’s even talking about. Leorio laughs even harder and Kurapika too lets out something that really sounds like a giggle. It would be a shame if Killua ruined all the fun by dying of salmonella like a dumbass.

He pushes twice on the dispenser. The soap smells of lemongrass and something chemical that makes Gon’s nose always wrinkle—endearing, even if Killua would kill himself on the spot before saying it out loud.

The water is cold but it doesn’t bother him: cold is better, it feels cleaner; warm always feels a bit too like blood. 

He starts humming, absentmindedly and content. How was that song again? Long enough for a good scrub—“seven brothers when to town, with no money to their name”… The melody is barely a tune, simple and whiny, it bounces inside his head as he lathers both palms until they’re white with suds. “One gets beaten to the ground and his body left to waste. Then the second found himself with a broken, shattered head.” What did Illumi use to say? Scrub every finger and don’t forget the nails. Boring. “The third brother, nevermind, got caught up into a fire, and as fast as he could scream, was already burnt to a crisp.”

Leorio is already declaiming and they only at the first bottle of beer. Killua still thinks that alcohol is pretty awful—too sour—but Gon doesn’t mind drinking a bit once in a while and he somehow manages to become even more affectionate. Killua shakes his head—gosh, can't help feeling embarrassed even after all this time. 

He lathers both thumbs and he’s still humming. 

How does the fourth brother die? Something involving a scythe? Yeah, that sounds about right. “The fourth brother wasn’t bright, got beheaded with a scythe,” he sings. How stupid is that? 

He never asked if Illumi invented it, but it doesn’t sound likely. Still, the words come to him in his voice, distinct like an actual whisper inside his ear. How many years it’s been now, since Killua removed that needle? Almost ten? And he can still feel him, looming over him, because nothing used to satisfy him more than a job well done, everything properly cleaned up from the body to the murder weapons—and if those were his little brother’s hands so be it.

He scrubs both wrists, careful to not soak Alluka’s bracelets too much. He’s probably killed salmonella and every other liven bacteria on his hands. 

“The fifth brother tried to run, but got stabbed in cold blood. The sixth brother, terrified, then resolved to take his life.” Here, all clean—let’s hope this will be the last chore of the day, he isn’t good at any of this domestic shit. “Left alone the seventh one, stole a greatcoat and a gun. He turned life and it’s no wonder, nothing pays better than murder,” he mumbles, to the last bits of suds sinking down.

“What?”

Killua turns and blinks—he was so stupidly concentrated, and relaxed, that he didn’t even hear Leorio’s usually heavy footsteps.

“What?” he rebuts, and closes the tap. “I’m getting rid of salmonellosis. Be proud of me or something.”

“Of course, who doesn’t think about that daily.” Leorio is probably sincere: he did tell them they should get that mold in the bathroom checked out as fast as he put a foot inside the apartment. He leans on the doorjamb and Killua is so tall, now, that he doesn’t even need to crook his neck look at him in the eyes. “You wash your hands like a surgeon, you know that?”

Killua frowns at the foam. He points a thumb at the bowl full of chicken.

“Alluka asked me to cut that up. She wants to make curry tonight.”

Leorio has already hidden his head inside the fridge. He comes out with two cool beers.

“And you decided to murder it with your bare hands?”

Killua dries them thoroughly on a dish towel and smiles, because nothing red is coming out of it. Nothing has for a long time, now.

“It had been murdered already,” he says. “And I don’t wash my hands like a surgeon, old man. I wash ‘em like an assassin.”

“Brother, did you cut the chicken!” Alluka’s voice chirps in, pushing Gon in too. 

“Yes, chicken,” Killua answers. “Do you need me to cut something else?”

She narrows her eyes, one finger pressing at her chin.

“Well, there’s onions and carrots…”

“I might as well cook my own dinner at this point?”

Gon looks a bit tipsy already. He grins and catches the beer Leorio has thrown at him without even looking. 

“Last time you tried to cook we had to evacuate the building. He turned on the stove with hatsu,” he adds, on behalf of both Kurapika and Melody. _Traitor_.

“That worked in the forest!”

“I can’t believe I’m the one who has to tell you this, Killua, but that’s totally not the same thing.”

Melody wheezes a soft laugh behind her fist and Kurapika’s eyeroll is loud and clear even as he makes a point of ignoring all their antics to go sit at the table.

Traitors, all of them.

“Whatever! Cook your own damn dinner, see if I care!”

“You always care a lot,” it’s what Gon says, and hangs one arm around his shoulder to pull him closer—Killua knows he’s blushing but at least he isn’t looking dreamily at Leorio’s clumsy attempt at opening a beer with his thumb like Kurapika is. Apparently, he needs to shake his head to get out of his stupor.

“You’re all exhausting, you know that?” Kurapika says, but it’s difficult to believe him when he’s never looked more comfortable in his whole life. He pokes at the closest onion and grabs a knife.

“So, how many of these do you need?” he asks Alluka; Leorio has already grabbed another knife and Gon is gathering carrots.

Melody smiles at Killua.

“Weird song, that one,” she says, dulcet voice and clear, benign curiosity on her face. “Was it a nursery rhyme?”

Killua leans back to the sink, as the kitchen fills up with the same chatters that were going on in the other room; Kurapika is explaining the concept of curry—Leorio thought it was just one spice, like turmeric, and of course Gon knows an awful lot of extremely specific notions about tubers in general. Alluka is in awe at having so many people interested in her cooking, eyes bright as they bounce from one person to the other. When they meet Killua’s own, their smiles grow bigger.

“It’s just a silly old song. Long enough to wash your hands properly, you know?”

Melody nods.

“Useful. Whatever works, am I right?” and she’s looking around the kitchen, small and packed with humans—some of Killua’s favorite humans all gathered in one place, promise of homemade curry and tipsy-Gon snuggles laying ahead.

It’s times like these that Illumi feels like the character from a made-up song, something you can flush away with soap.

“Brother, don't you just stand there! Grab me a pan!” Alluka yelps, fingers flailing toward the cupboard.

Killua doesn’t even try to argue—he’s fine with helping out with dinner. He’s fine with Leorio’s affectionate pats, and Kurapika’s pointed sighs as he cuts up onions, and Gon’s fingers and shoulders and _everything_ bumping on him as they twirl around each other in that small kitchen, Alluka leading them like an orchestral conductor. 

It's fine—it works. And Killua has never felt more comfortable in his whole life.

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhere in the world is still October 2nd XD  
> The prompt was #domestic, from [fanwriter.it](https://fanwriters.files.wordpress.com/2020/09/writober_listafanwriter.jpg?w=700&h=) pumpFIC list.


End file.
